


bloom

by saraheli



Category: Block B
Genre: Angst, Disfigurement, Hanahaki Disease, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 05:29:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14784417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saraheli/pseuds/saraheli
Summary: Kyung’s unrequited love for his best friend Jiho leads to his contraction of a disease that he had formerly thought to be fictitious. As the vines in his lungs work to destroy his body, he gives into the pain, knowing he has to reveal his feelings before it’s too late.





	1. one

That night, the sky opened up and down poured the coldest tears that the heavens had to offer. The drops rapped violently against the windowpanes and made the streets glow with a happiness unwelcome in the humid solemnity of the city. **  
**

His eyes had been staring out into those lights. He had been watching them for hours, doing his best to absorb as much of their gleam as he could; he never had truly appreciated them, after all. He lamented silently how much he would miss them.

Kyung had known for weeks what was coming. He had stared at his reflection in the mirror countless times and tried to convince himself that he was ready, but no matter how many times he said it, it remained untrue.

A swallow interrupted the dense quiet that had surrounded him and stood up straight finally. He tugged his clothes tighter against his figure. Warm tears slid from his eyes and kicked up the dust on his floorboards.

Kyung was not ready to reveal the truth to the one he loved, he was not ready to change everything, and, most of all, he was not ready to die.

> _**ONE MONTH BEFORE** _

After weeks of waiting, he had finally managed to make plans with Jiho. They were both so busy nowadays that it felt as if they spent more time longing after each other than they did in the same room. Especially after being so close when they were younger, this space between them was sometimes difficult to bear and it only became more difficult when Kyung allowed himself to explore his growing desire for something beyond the realm of friendship with Jiho. This exploration was seldom done and never dwelled upon; he knew that it was something to ignore and work through, not to pursue. Jiho would never feel the same way and all the truth would do is tear everything apart.

He tried to remember where it had started, but he couldn’t quite find an exact moment when things had suddenly changed. It may have been recent: during a concert when Jiho had whispered something in his ear and held him gently by the small of his back, or it could have been years ago: when they’d first met and wreaked havoc in school together. Any of those moments may as well have been the first; they all resonated as if they had been.

So, when the two of them had finally found their only off day that lined up, the two boys had hurried to tap the appointment into their calendars, but to Kyung, this meant more than a simple reunion of two friends.

When they finally met at the restaurant, their welcoming embrace was one of those lovers who have been separated by horrendous distance. They held each other in friendly laughter until Jiho pulled away first, looking down at Kyung admiringly.

It was in this gaze that Kyung felt it. The familiar comfort that always accompanied Jiho’s presence was still there, but it was heavier than before. He could feel it coolly in his chest as it swam about in his lungs, filling him with something unexpected. And as they ate together that day, the feelings only worsened. A warm and fuzzy one when Jiho grabbed for Kyung’s hand, a calm and secure one when he watched him nonchalantly shift in his seat, and a stinging pain in his lungs when Jiho revealed that he’d been seeing someone.

“Oh?” Kyung asked, sucking soda through his straw. “How long has that been going on exactly?”

“A couple of weeks,” Jiho shrugged, “I really like her, but we have to keep things quiet right now. That’s why I haven’t mentioned it before.”

Kyung felt a tightening sensation in his throat and a soft tickle there as if he needed to cough. He ignored the feeling, paying more attention to that heat that buzzed in his heart at the thought of Jiho with someone else. But when he did finally let loose a raspy choke into his hand, a small red flower petal fell from his mouth to his palm. He froze.

His immediate reaction was to believe that it had not happened, that his eyes had somehow betrayed him and that his fingertips were involved in the conspiracy as their pads slid over the smooth scarlet film.

“I mean, Kyung, I think I might be in love with her,” Jiho said, his eyebrows raised. He let out a short laugh, “I know it hasn’t been long, but it feels so…different with her. Like, she’s going to mean something spectacular and important for me. Does that make any sense?”

Jiho’s words froze in the air, Kyung’s eyes perceiving them as hanging letters that he could barely make out in his hidden panic.

“Yeah, I mean, sure,” Kyung said. He clutched the petal in his hand.

Jiho was beaming, “I’ve never felt like this for anyone before.”

Kyung felt his jaw clench and a familiar coolness sink through his chest. He felt compelled to confirm Jiho’s “anyone,” wanting to believe that the sentiment would be true. He, however, merely coughed into his hand again, but with a force much more violent and riveting than before as if something were trying to expel itself out of him. More petals flew from his mouth and made a soft damp pile in his hand. His breathing picked up and he got to his feet.

“You good?” Jiho asked, raising his eyebrows and tipping his straw between his lips.

Kyung couldn’t respond, only coughing one more time. The warm metallic taste of his own blood tinged his mouth and his eyes widened.

Time felt as if it were coming to a stop. Kyung, however, pushed through this spatial molasses as he got to his feet. Jiho was saying something new to him in a more uncertain voice than before, but he could merely continue moving and scramble to the restroom.

Facing the mirror, he searched the interior of his mouth. Nothing. He coughed again. More strings of soft crimson fell from his lips into the sink, a string of blood clinging to one as it sank.

His ears filled with a ringing sound as he turned on the faucet to wash away the remnants of his blood in the sink. He rinsed out his mouth. His hands shook violently as he tried to dry them. His mind spun as it searched for a logical explanation. His heart raced in his chest as he left the bathroom. He stopped where Jiho sat but did not reclaim his seat.

“Is everything—”

“I have to go,” Kyung said, dropping money on the table, “I’m sorry. I hope everything works out with your girl.”

Jiho called after him as he left, but he did not turn back. The words had been genuine: of course, he wanted Jiho to be happy, but they cut through him as he hurried home.

The faster he ran down the block, the harder he tried to convince himself that Jiho was not calling after him from behind because God knows that if he had been, Kyung would be helpless to turn back.

> _**ONE WEEK BEFORE** _

Kyung had discovered his disease quickly. He didn’t believe it at first; Hanahaki wasn’t real. His head spun and he wanted to convince himself that it was something else, that it was just something normal like allergies or lung cancer. But neither of those things had ever made thorny plants grow inside someone.

And they only got worse from that day at the restaurant. He began to loathe himself for loving someone; each time he saw Jiho, he would be reduced to a shaking mess on the floor of a restroom as bloodied petals poured from his mouth. The beauty he once saw in his best friend’s face would make his stomach churn with fear as the plant scraped his insides, made the love he felt sting. He would cry in a combination of physical and emotional pain, wishing that things would change or begging for the thorns to “ _just kill me already_.”

But they didn’t. They just took Kyung’s singing voice, his energy, his will to get out of bed. He stopped answering his phone. He stopped letting people into his house. He stopped eating.

He considered going to the hospital to have everything torn out of him, but he knew what he would lose if he did. All of the love in his body would be drained out of him the moment the roots detached from his flesh. He would never write another romantic song, enjoy another kiss. He would never really live again.

But he had to go to the studio today. He had avoided it for long enough, and at this point, his input was more than desired; it was necessary. The phone calls hadn’t stopped all week and the messages people left were heated and frustrated. So he went.

Kyung showed up on time adorning his black face mask and buzzed himself in. Everyone was there already and he felt disconnected from reality for a moment. It felt as if he were floating.

Everything looked like it had before his world had changed: Minhyuk sat on the couch with Yukwon goofily showing each other things on their phones, Jaehyo complained about the bad internet connection, and Taeil and Jihoon were arguing about what type of sauce you were meant to dip your chicken in. Jiho, of course, was the only one focused at this point, his headphones on as he stared at his computer screen.

Their chattering hushed as he came in.

“Oh, Kyung, you’re here,” Yukwon noted, looking up at him.

“How are you feeling?” Jihoon asked from where he sat, “You look tired.”

“I am,” Kyung replied raspily, “I’m not feeling great, but I had to come.” He said, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie.

“You should sit,” Jiho said without turning to look at them. He had taken his headphones off at some point but continued to click at things on his desktop. “We don’t need you passing out or something.”

“Have you eaten?” Jihoon continued, bringing him a small bowl of chicken.

“I haven’t. Thanks.” Kyung took it from him.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off of Jiho as he worked, remaining so disconnected from the rest of them as he did. He watched until Jiho pulled his lower lip between his teeth and bit it in focus, and then he looked away, inhaling quietly as he closed his eyes.

They spent most of that evening like that. More chatting than working. However, Jiho was acutely conscious of how quiet Kyung was. Normally, he was as loud as any of the others: rambunctious and energetic, but tonight he was reserved and withdrawn. He didn’t even seem focused or interested in what they were meant to be doing. It was as if Kyung was gone and an imposter had been sent in his place as if he were nothing but a shell.

> _**ONE DAY BEFORE** _

It had been too long since Kyung had spoken to anyone. His curtains were drawn, making each object shadowless and blank. His absence made everyone worried, but it made them angry too. They had no idea how difficult it was to move let alone speak, no idea that Kyung’s feet dipped further into death’s depths with each passing minute. So, finally, when they couldn’t take it anymore, they sent Jiho to see what was going on.

“It’s been days…” Jiho said, his voice strained in frustration.

There was a long drawn out silence filled with the rustling of sheets and loud breathing.

“I know. I just…I’m so tired.” Kyung said, sitting on the edge of his bed and facing away from Jiho.

Through the thin fabric of his shirt, Jiho could see the sheer amount of weight his friend had lost. Even in the dark Kyung was pale, but when he looked back over his shoulder, his face was mystifying: ghastly white with dark eyes and stained red lips. Dark circles drained his features and his cheeks were almost hollow, every muscle able to be seen when it moved.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone that it had gotten this bad?”

“How could I?” Kyung let out a bitter laugh, the sound quickly followed by a hacking cough that sent blood into his palm. “It’s suffocating me.” He looked down at his own body, running his bloodied hand down his front. The thorns added extra ridges to his chest. He cringed. “I mean, I barely have the energy to get out of bed most days. I sometimes wonder why I was born. This…This thing is making me more suicidal than sick.” He murmured mostly to himself.

“You have to go to the hospital—”

“Oh, why?” Though his voice was hoarse, it was sharp and impactful. A ghost of an expression glimmered across his face, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. “I might as well be dead if they take it out of me.”

Kyung had thought about this frequently, but each time the thought crossed his mind, he could feel a horrid throbbing between each pair of his ribs. As the lore stated, the removal of the plant would result in the complete removal of Kyung’s ability to feel pleasure, to experience love. He would be less expressive, more cynical, and, potentially, lose his previously existing will to live, so, Kyung wondered why he should live a life with a dead heart than die altogether.

Jiho was silent for a moment, stunned by the outburst. He moved slowly towards the bed. “What are you talking about?”

“If I let them take it out of me, it’ll be like they took out everything I’ve ever felt.” He looked back at Jiho, his eyes wet and sad, “Sorry…I know that doesn’t make sense.” Kyung slumped forward and caught his face in his hands. Before Jiho could respond, Kyung was pushing himself up to his feet with difficulty. “Regardless,  I need to tell you something.”

Jiho sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Okay, what is it?”

His breath hitched in his throat. Though it was not an unusual feeling, this one was different from the restrictive one that he felt so often now.

“I’m going to say something ridiculous followed by something else ridiculous,” Kyung said, trying to lighten the mood. He cleared his throat, “This disease I have, um, it’s called Hanahaki. It, well, it makes a…” He made a face and shook his head, “it kills me by essentially tearing my lungs apart. It makes me cough up blood and shit.”

Jiho paused, looking at the floor with furrowed eyebrows. “Jesus…” He whispered, “How long do you have?”

“No idea,” Kyung said, staring blankly forward, “it could be anywhere between a month and ten minutes.”

There was silence again, but this time nothing interrupted it. Jiho could hardly hear his own breathing, all sounds coming through muffled as if cotton filled his ears. He had known Kyung was sick, but he never considered the idea of losing him, of not having him around. He swallowed.

“It makes a what, Kyung?” Jiho asked suddenly, cutting through the dense silence.

“What?”

“You said the-the disease makes something. What does it make?”

“Roses.”

Jiho wrinkled his forehead. “Roses?”

“It grows roses in my lungs.”

Jiho stared at Kyung for a moment before letting out an incredulous chuckle. “How high is your fever?”

Kyung’s jaw clenched and he looked down at the floor. He cleared his throat and stepped away from his friend, “Hanahaki is caused by a romantic love that is unrequited. Now, this stupid fucking plant is going to choke me to death because I couldn’t stop myself from loving you.” He hissed, the words falling out of his mouth.

Jiho stared down at him in shock. How could he have not seen it before? He couldn’t bring himself to say anything even though he knew the silence was worse than any remark he could have made.

Kyung sniffled, wiping his eyes in frustration as he began to cry. “God, I should never have told you. You already think I’m losing my damn mind, well, believe it or not, Jiho, my brain is the only thing I have left,” he turned away and coughed hard, making him double over and fall onto the bed in pain. Blood dripped from his mouth as petals and thorns rocketed onto his sheets.

Jiho watched in horror. Seeing the plants for himself made his stomach churn, and any hint of doubt that existed faded with the sun’s light outside the clothed windows.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked, looking over at his friend. He moved closer, standing near the bed’s side.

“Why do you think? Look what happened when I finally did tell you, you didn’t believe me, and why would you?” His voice was low and uneven as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

Jiho stared at Kyung as he caught his breath, “Why didn’t you tell me about your…that you loved me?” He could feel his own voice straining as a lump formed in his throat.

“Jesus, you…I’m not your type. I’ve been listening to you talk about girls you like since we were kids and…” He began to ramble off countless other things that he thought contributed to it, and with each passing insecurity, with every jab Kyung took at himself, Jiho’s heart broke a little more. “ _…and please just let me die_.”

The last plead was a tearful whisper, a beg for an ending, for peace and rest. He had finally reached his limit.

Kyung sobbed, the plants tearing through him as they were thrown from his mouth. He writhed in place, digging his fingernails into his own sides as his arms wrapped around his torso. Jiho frantically took the smaller boy’s body into his arms, trying to make him breathe again. Scarlet clumps pushed their way up his throat and fell to the white sheets below. The blood crawled in tiny lines away from the piles to create beautiful webs of red.

“Kyung please,” Jiho whispered to him, “ _please_  live.”

Kyung clutched Jiho’s shirt, trying to cover his mouth so that blood wouldn’t get on it. Even in what might be his final moments, Kyung found himself more concerned with the man who held him than himself.

“I can’t  _do_  this without you,” Jiho yelled, wiping the blood from his friend’s mouth frantically as if the action would somehow do some good. His heart was racing.

_He’s dying right here._

Tears streamed down his face and landed on Kyung’s cheeks as he writhed in his arms. Memories and words spun around in his brain, melding together until he could only hear Kyung’s voice repeating over and over: please just let me die.

His crying turned to messy sobs as he took Kyung’s face in his hands. He looked at it, soaking it in, memorizing its every detail as if he hadn’t already. It was not the face he remembered, but one bleeding and crying and gasping for air. One covered with torture that only he was responsible for.

_I can’t do anything._

“Please, Kyung  _please_ ,” Jiho begged, pressing his forehead against Kyung’s.

And then there was silence again.

_It’s all my fault._

* * *

Jiho’s whole body felt like it was empty. His breathing slowed as he pressed his ear to Kyung’s chest. There was something there; a weak rise and fall pressing against his cheek. Jiho felt hot tears stream onto the other boy’s shirt as he held him.

“Whatever…” Kyung breathed out, “Whatever happens tonight, you can’t blame yourself.”

Jiho hushed him and shook his head, continuing to sob against his chest.

Kyung swallowed painfully, his hand coming up to rest tiredly against the back of Jiho’s neck.

“You should go.” He breathed, “I don’t think you want to be here if that happens again.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Jiho hissed, “there is no fucking way I’m leaving you alone. Not anymore.” He breathed out and closed his eyes.

Kyung sighed and stared up at the ceiling. He could feel the thorns inside of him poking against his lungs and the inside of his throat. The very skin covering his body throbbed, but he found himself merely begging for sleep. 


	2. epilogue

> **_EIGHT HOURS BEFORE_ **

The night was long and difficult.

They had cleaned up, well, Jiho had cleaned up and forced Kyung to sit and rest. He washed the blood from the sheets and used a warm cloth to wipe his face clean.

“I need to wash this,” Jiho commented, gesturing to Kyung’s shirt.

Kyung swallowed and removed it, handing it to him. Jiho took it slowly, his eyes studying the other boy’s torso. It had new scars in the shape of vines and thin scratches throughout his ribcage. Some of them were raised as if the plants really did twine around his bones.

“I know it’s ugly,” Kyung said quietly, making Jiho look up and into his eyes.

“It’s not.” Jiho said, his voice almost a whisper.

He reached over and brushed his fingers over Kyung’s body, becoming somehow gentler when the boy winced at the pressure on the wounds. His hand followed them all the way up to Kyung’s jawline, dampened with tears. Jiho wiped them away and used his other arm to draw Kyung closer to him.

“Please don’t cry.”

“Jiho,” Kyung sobbed, “I-I’m going to d-die and I-I…I won’t ev-ven look like me.”

Jiho rested his cheek against Kyung’s forehead and stroked his back softly, rocking him as he cried. All he could do was shush him and make false promises that everything would be alright. He took him into the bathroom and ran him a warm bath.

Kyung watched as Jiho ran around preparing the bath for him, making him food, and doing his laundry. His heart numbly ached with each glance over Jiho’s shoulder to check on him as he made the bed, opened the curtains, and asked over and over if he needed anything. Breathing didn’t feel as painful as before. Maybe it was because he believed the end to be close, maybe it was because someone was finally caring for him, and maybe it was because Jiho was what he needed all along.

Jiho refused to allow himself to fall asleep; he wanted to stay awake to make sure Kyung slept through the night. He laid in bed beside him, watching his chest swell and shrink as he slept. The breaths were raspy, but deep and full which brought him comfort. Each time Kyung would cough or shift, Jiho’s heart would jump, and he would lurch forward in panic.

But each time it was nothing, and Kyung’s breathing would return to its rhythm. Jiho’s thoughts began to rapidly swirl about as the night drew on. He wondered how long Kyung had loved him, and why it made him feel so warm inside when he reminded himself of it. He wondered if it would be cliche to love him back only when he might lose him. He wondered if this weird feeling in his stomach even was love or if it was simply the fear of being without Kyung.

He wondered if those two things were the same.

Jiho let himself feel guilty. He had been feeling that way since he had found everything out, but he had pushed it away. Kyung had told him to. He had to care for him. But now he was out of excuses.


End file.
